Tempus Fugit

All the clocks in my life are wrong.

Not very wrong, just a couple of minutes fast or slow.

This causes me untold angst, as I have had it inculcated deep into my psyche that four minutes early is actually one minute late. And if I'm only three minutes early? Mein gott! Mission failure!

Unfortunately, despite this ingrained need to be punctual, I am also a pathological procrastinator. If I have a minute to spare I won't leave home and get there early. Instead I'll faff around wiping the benches and checking twitter. (Probably more likely the latter.)

This would be totally fine.

Except all the clocks are wrong.

So my morning goes something like this:

Eat Breakfast. Check the wall clock (5 mins fast). Panic and flail madly, throwing the dishes in the general direction of the sink and then running to the bathroom. Extra points for corners taken at a slide in socks.

Shower like I am being pursued by ravenous wolves (very scary in a confined space). Hop out, and peek around the corner at the bedroom clock (3 mins slow). Congratulate myself on managing to shower and wash my hair all in a single minute. Dawdle through picking clothes and getting generally gussied up.

Put on my watch (3 mins fast). Oh sweet merciful lemons, where did the time go? How could putting on jeans possibly have taken a full twenty minutes! Panic. Flail madly. Yell directions about hats and jackets at the children while trying to wrestle my shoe off the dog.

Hop one footed to the kitchen, channeling the vibe of a very speedy flamingo. Check the microwave clock (5 mins slow). Ah ha! I am a Time Lord! I suspected as much. Somehow I have jumped through a portal in the hallway and gained eight minutes. Put together a snack and pack our bags as quickly as a snail stuck in treacle.

Then check my watch... and run to playschool.

I need to standardise my clocks. But hey, who has the time? (*Boom tish*)

Help wanted

I love my neigbourhood. I feel so lucky to live where I do.

I visited a friend for dinner. It was so impromptu that I wore my ugg boots over there, classy lady that I am (but if you can't wear them to walk around the corner on a cold night, where can you? The privacy of ones own home? Pffft. Just call me trailer trash Betty.)

But it's not the close proximity of my friend's house that got me thinking about the positives of my neighbourhood. It was the fact that the street light was out in the lane that links our houses. This is highly unusual - I live in a Defence enclave and the infrastructure is usually well maintained. As I approached the lane, a women walking unaccompanied, in unsuitable shoes, and with two very young children in tow, I felt a shiver of uncertainty cross my mind.

Was the light out on purpose?

Was it a foolish idea to enter?

I looked at the houses on either side of the lane. Their lights were on, people were home.

But if I needed them, would they come when I called?

I remembered an article written by Sam de Brito about a respectable woman, well known in her neighborhood, who was the victim of a home invasion and ran to her neighbors (in her underwear) to try and summon help. The neighbors (two sets!) turned off the lights and refused to let her in the door.

Would that happen to me?

Then I remembered another story, told to me by a good friend Annie. She and her boyfriend, both Defence members, were walking through a large shop when they heard a commotion a few aisles away. They ran straight over. No hesitation. A man had suffered a heart attack and there was quite a crowd gathering. But no one was helping. Not one person had stepped forwards. Annie's boyfriend pushed through the milling hoards and started resuscitating the fallen man, while Annie called the ambulance and ran crowd control. God knows what would have happened if they hadn't been there that day. Perhaps the inertia of the other indecisive shoppers could have cost a man his life.

And I remembered another time while I was at the pool, and I heard a dad calling for help - his daughter was choking. I found myself running to him well before my brain was in gear. I left my own child to care for his. That shocked me, afterwards.

There are many similar stories among my serving friends, where a swift and decisive reaction to trouble has been ingrained, instinctive.

And I came to a conclusion - that kind of response has either been successfully trained into serving members as a result of their profession, and perhaps also it is the type of career that attracts people with those attributes. I suspect it rubs off on the people around them, too.

So I stepped with confidence down the dark lane, surrounded by Defence houses, comfortable that if I needed help, then help would come.

I love my neighbourhood.

Mrs Accident is a crafty minx

Peanut has decided she is ravenously hungry today. So, instead of my usual wordy post, I am going to give you a tour of our arts and craft centre. That way, when I jump up every three seconds to make her yet another sandwich, I won't have a complicated train of thought to derail.

To make it interesting for those less kid-craft-inclined, I'll insert the content of Peanut's snack breaks at the intervals they interrupt me trying to write. Cause that will be sure to keep you reading...

First up, lets talk location. Banana.

Our craft table is on tiles, and close to the kitchen. This makes clean up wayheyhey easier. Craft and carpet don't mix. (Unless your craft is carpet weaving.)

We have a kid sized table that can be wiped clean, and four kid sized chairs. Bug can use them comfortably already, and I can still sit on them too. They're just the right size. For women. Mr Accident looks like he's Gulliver on a good day.

In the photo up there you can also see a wipe-able, splash proof picture I have stuck to the wall by the table. It's saved our wall from sticky fingers and flung paint many times over.

Now, onto the contents of our shelves.

When it comes to art supplies, I like to give the girls the real deal. Glue that actually sticks, real oil pastels, proper water colour paint. I also give Peanut real scissors, mandarin, but I keep them up out of Bug's reach.  

Here's our paint stash. I normally keep it in one of Mr Accident's old protein buckets (man drinks a lot of protein) but I took them out today to show you. We have poster paint and finger paint. I always buy the biggest bottles I can find.

The girls love this shelf. Cotton balls, match sticks, foam shapes, patty cases, paddle pop sticks, feathers, pompoms and beans. Some of the containers are divided, so we also have googly eyes, glitter and pasta hiding back there. Peanut-butter and sultanas on a big corn cracker, times two.

Our play dough shelf. We're using pink at the moment, you can probably see some caked on the utensils there. I wash the gear when I change the colour, it's a good prompt. 

Chalk, crayons, textas and pencils. Another cracker like before - that makes three! I'm going broke here, people. Our pencils and textas are well used, and as a result they have been decimated by Panzer. Seriously, that dog has chewed one in ten. It's impossible to expect Bug to keep them all on the table, but every one that falls to the floor is cactus. You can see a lidless marker in the box there. I HATE LIDLESS MARKERS. I can feel an eye twitch developing...

Our nature shelf. There is normally a magnifying glass here too, but I have no idea where it's gone. Perhaps off studying nature on its own. Maybe on the front lawn. Probably starting fires... I might need to go find it before we have another sunny day.

The little tin boxes hold our seed and nut collection. I try to keep the decayables out, but it's a challenge. Only the vigilant will win! I did find a worm in there one day, that was a treat. Cashews.

Our stamp collection. (The interesting kind, philately was never my thing, although my mother tried to encourage me. I like the messy ones better.) We have big stamps for little hands, littler stamps for the more dexterous, and a random Hello-Kitty-in-a-plane. I have no idea where that one came from. I should check the airport arrivals board. 

Brushes, sponges and other paint smearing utensils. I keep the shaving brushes there for Bug, she finds them easier to manipulate. On the paper, that is, she's too young to shave. 

Apple and a chocolate cookie. Finally, we have the easel. It's a whiteboard on one side, chalk board on the other, and I keep the clips to hang large paper when we head outside and paint "plein air". Ahem. Bug has eaten more chalk than she's even drawn with, and I fear the day we see her on "My Strange Addiction." 


And that concludes today's tour. Thank you for joining us, and I hope to see you next time, when I show you the contents of our bathroom cupboard.

Kidding!

You hope.

Pride goeth before the fall

I was a walking proverb this morning.

Or, to be more precise, a tripping one.

I was carrying a large sack of chicken feed through the backyard when it occurred to me that I was quite possibly having my most productive day ever. I started congratulating myself on getting the breakfast dishes and laundry done so blisteringly quickly that I had the time to clean out the chicken house, all before leaving for play school. However, just as my pride was building, along came my fall....

Literally.

There was a stray bamboo cane on the grass. It clearly had Bad Intentions, as the rest of its well behaved brethren were stacked politely against the fence. As I passed it leapt from the ground and grappled me into submission. My feet and the cane were more twisted than a Stephen King story.

I fell like a slapstick stunt man; juggling the feed, trying not to crush anyone smaller, stumbling and flailing, and eventually landing on my bum in a giant pile of spilled corn and sunflower seeds.

That, of course, brought a pack of (normally docile) slavering chickens and dogs running to gobble the spoils.

Which I was sitting on.

When I finally extricated myself from under a pile of excited animals, I turned to Bug to check she was alright. With the insouciance only a one year old can muster, she pointed to the stunningly evil bamboo cane and said "look Mummy! Stick!"

Yes my dear, I know.

Stick.

Baby led weaning

I am a huge fan of baby led weaning.

HUGE fan.

I'm pretty sure BLW also stands for Best L-idea W-ever. (The L and W are silent.)

Peanut was a puree eater. And not just any puree - it had to be Rafferty's Garden. She wouldn't touch my homemade slop with a ten foot, plastic handled, easy grip baby spoon. I bought baby-food recipe books. I searched online forums. I even tried to copy the ingredients in the bought stuff. No dice. It was Rafferty's or nothing. I felt like a total failure and, in hindsight, I bred a fussy eater. Even worse, feeding Peanut was costing more than feeding me! (In her defence, that stuff is pretty delicious.)

I'll chew screws, but not your delicious pie. No siree.

I didn't make the same mistake with Bug, she was fed actual solid food from the very beginning. She started by swiping normal vegies off my plate and by six months was in her high chair, munching on the same food as the rest of the family.

Did you know you can pop a whole cob of corn?
The things I learn on twitter...

Yup. My six month old was eating lamb chops. Peas. Grapes. Everything.

But won't she choke?!

Surprisingly, no. She never did. Instead of struggling with a spoon of purée thrust into her mouth, which would encourage her to suck the food straight back into her throat, she had control over the rate and amount of food she ate. There were a couple of incidences of mild gagging, but she was never worried by it - she was just learning how to control the food in her mouth.

A child's hand to mouth coordination and mouthing / swallowing control develop at around six months of age, at around the same time as 'solid' food is normally introduced.  Kids this age are naturally curious and learn by mimicking others, and love to be included in family activities, so baby led weaning made developmental sense to me. As Bug became more competent chewing and swallowing, she naturally ate more food and dropped her milk consumption. In the meantime she was still getting the sustenance she needed from the milk. Perfect!

The biggest advantage of baby led weaning was being able to continue to eat as a family. First time around, I used to feed Peanut her dinner first, then eat after she was in bed. I starved half to death Every Single Night. The other option was trying to feed the baby while eating my own dinner, and that just frustrated both of us. Babies suck at taking turns. But baby led weaning meant Bug sat at the table with the family and her own plate, and I could just leave her to it. Bliss.

Now, if you're going to give this a try, expect mess! As a baby gets more practice she will become neater but the first few months are interesting. Ahem. I was very thankful for a tile floor, two dogs to lick it, and a big plastic bib. Also, make sure to sit the baby up to eat. This will let food that they are struggling with to fall forward from their mouth, lessening the risk of choking.

And now, with Bug at eighteen months, I can happily say that in the great puree vs baby led weaning battle, I'm BLW all the way. The kid's an eating machine. Dominates sushi. Loves a curry. Veggies are eaten by the plateful.

Bug would eat this in an instant...
...and then lick the chopping board.

So how did you / do you / were you fed? Baby led weaning? Puree? Bread and water? Or prechewed  from your mum's mouth, like Alicia Silverstone's baby Bear? Do share....

I Don't Know How She Does It!*

{*"it" clearly being "blatantly blog while the floors are so grubby"}

I have been asked a couple of times about my daily and weekly routines by people who are kind enough to assume I have it "all together". (Stop laughing Mr A, maintain the illusion...) 

Now I could list my day to day doings here and hope you don't fall asleep by the second paragraph (or break in while we're at swimming and steal our six year old tv) but I thought instead I would explain how I developed our routine, as that would probably be more helpful. 

I'm not, however, going to pretend it's foolproof. I still struggle with getting everything done, but I'm the kind of person who prefers to struggle within a defined framework. ;)

Let's jump in, shall we?

Time

First up, work out what you're working with.  

If you have a high intensity baby that only naps 20 minutes a day, or you work all but three hours a week, then that's the grand sum of the time you've got. No point starting in on a housework schedule that doesn't fit your life. If all you can manage is wiping the counters daily and vacuuming once a week, then no point stressing about the window tracks! Do what you can, forget the rest until your situation changes. 

So work out what hours (or minutes!) you have available. You also need to work out what times you have set arrangements, like swimming at ten and dinner at six. Then you know your limitations and can work within them. 

I am lucky to be a stay at home mum so I have a fair whack of time to play with. Here's how I do it:

We wake in the morning, and then have about two hours before we need to be out the door. Because of organised out-of-home activities (like playschool and swimming) and the unorganised disorganised unscheduled activities like painting and gardening that we do at home, we are busy for the rest of the morning until we eat lunch (usually with Mr A) at 12:30. 

Then the girls nap for two hours from 1pm until about 3pm, and dinner prep starts at 5:30pm, we eat at 6pm, and then it's dinner clean up, bath and bed for the girls. I knock off at about 8pm, because I flat out refuse to do housework at night. 

To keep track, I draw all the information on a military-inspired timeline, like this:

{Just to make it perfectly clear: this is just an example. I DON'T actually wake up at 4am. Ever. EVER!}

So that gives me two hours in the morning, two hours kid-free in the afternoon, then about two and a half hours after nap time: six and a half hours total. Because I'm not a masochist, I don't use all these for housework! I read somewhere that housework should take about 15 minutes per household member per day, and I think this is about right, if you count housework-done-with-small-children-underfoot as taking twice the time, and a new puppy as three people. 

Tasks

Next step - work out what jobs you need done, starting with the necessities and working down to the less-than-vital. These will fall into weekly and daily tasks. Here are a couple of my examples:

Daily

• Shower
• Dress children
• Laundry
• Feed chickens
• Make bread

Weekly

• Grocery shop
• Clean bathrooms
• Change sheets

Some of these daily tasks fall into obvious locations on your schedule. Write them in first. 

Then fit the rest of your daily jobs in the gaps.

Make sure to fit in the other things that are important to you, too!

Now to the weekly jobs. 

I write the days of the week in a row, then write the set activities we have to attend underneath them (like play group or science time.) This gives me an idea of how busy we are on any given day. 

Now, some of your "to do list" chores will have obvious days they need to be done, like putting the bins out on a Wednesday. Write these chores in next. 

Others tasks can be done any time. Some will take a lot of time and energy, some will be quick and easy. Pick times during your week where your time and energy matches the task. Don't expect to find the motivation to deep clean the kitchen when you're rushed or exhausted! This will take a bit of thought and probably some trial and error, but eventually you will find a workable fit of jobs to days. 

For example, I pay the bills on Friday, a day when we are quite busy and sitting still for 15 minutes is very welcome. I grocery shop on Mondays when I have only one child in tow, and I change the sheets on a Thursday when I have the time to do a extra load of washing. 

Because my days are all very similar I can schedule in a set time on my daily time line for weekly tasks, but if you have variable days you can obviously use any suitable time you have. 

I write all this info out on a whiteboard that lives near our kitchen. Having in in a central location, where I see it all day, keeps me on track.

It looks a bit like this:

I haven't included everything on my list in this example. Not even close! I change and add to the list regularly - I'm always having earth shattering realisations that I haven't cleaned the skirting boards in a year and a half, and I should probably stick that on the list too...

I also include the children's activities on my real board, as well as any craft or lessons I want to get done with the girls that week. It's my brain. In erasable marker. (Did I mention hanging it out of the way of small kids? Do.)  

You will also notice I included a "monthly tasks" line on Fridays. That's for things like washing the dog or the windows, sweeping the back path and other stuff that isn't weekly but does warrant doing occasionally. I keep that list in a notebook and tick them off as I go.

One nice thing about having designated days for specific tasks is that if I notice the bathroom is a bit grubby on a non-bathroom-cleaning day, I give myself leave to ignore the grime, knowing it will get cleaned soon enough. Because if I cleaned the bathroom today, then the sheets wouldn't get done, starting a horrendous domino effect of undone chores... egads! 

So that's how I organise my week. 

I'd love to hear how everyone else runs theirs, I'm still new at this game and I'm sure there are a multitude of different ways to skin this same cat. So please, share away!

Mrs Accident is at home

Sometimes an at-home day comes at exactly the right time.

I know we are due for one when I start to feel overwhelmed by the clutter on the kitchen table, the floor is pretending to belong to a mud hut, and we are scraping the bottom of both the biscuit barrel and my patience.

Not my house
{source}

Then it's time for a reset. A morning to clean and clear the house and bake, an afternoon to sit quietly with a well earned cup of tea and a fresh, warm biscuit.

Peanut is feeling off colour today. She had a fabulous day yesterday with swimming lessons in the morning then a long play at an adventure playground. (She can do the swinging chain bridge and the flying fox by herself now! Today the swing bridge, tomorrow uni... she's growing up so damn fast.)

But today Peanut woke up cross, picked at her breakfast, and then retired to the couch with a book on tigers. She didn't want her favourite snack, she didn't want to watch tv, and eventually, three hours early, she decided that she should probably take her feverish head back to bed for a nap. Poor kid.

(For the record, Bug seems totally fine. She spent all morning pretending to be a pirate on the dog couch, with Archie as her loyal and sleepy sidekick. He may have known where the treasure was, but he certainly wasn't telling.)

So, without the girls underfoot I have been a cleaning whirlwind. The floors are back to shiny; the clutter banished; the courtyard is swept; and the pot plants, previously considering turning into cactii due to neglect, have been watered. And I won't even begin to gloat about the laundry. Suffice to say it has been well and truly beaten into submission. Of course, I outsourced the beating to the washing machine, for I am a thoroughly modern woman.

I didn't feel modern yesterday, though. Yesterday my neighbour turned up at my door with a bucket of pears that she had just picked. She tipped them into my held-out apron skirt, and in return I gave her six fresh eggs from the Accidental hens. Which she carried home in her apron. A regular 1950's street, we are.

In other news, our bath toys have been secretly breeding. They multiply overnight, then perch around the rim of the tub like lepers at Lourdes, slopping in their own damp puddles. We have many bath toy holders from bath toy sets, but they are all specifically designed to hold exactly two fewer toys than they came with. Frustrating.

But mix an old mandarin bag with a scrap of ugly orange bias and voila: solution.

I should have washed the bias first, though. It came from my grandmother's stash and probably originated sometime before sliced bread. The first time it was wet, orange dye ran into the bath and made the water look like someone had had a not-so-little accident. I jokingly blamed Peanut and she blamed me right back... and I wasn't even in the bath. What did she think I had done? Thankfully the dye is easy to rinse off, so no harm done.

Finally, in this meandering post about nothing in particular, it's time to award comment of the week. 

And our winner?  Sarah from Stitching and Needling. Check out the sidebar to see what made me chuckle. And a big thank you to everyone who comments. I blog for comments, (they are cheaper than peanuts) and get excited every single time I get a new one... so feel free to leave another today!